


a hurricane circles through my sky

by neocxxlture



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Special Powers, Supernatural Elements, Unspecified Setting, Written for KUNIVERSISM, angstier than it needs to be, nonchronological narrative but there are timestamps for everything, xiaoyang at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21631624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocxxlture/pseuds/neocxxlture
Summary: It has always been like this: what Kun feels, the sky above him mirrors.
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang/Qian Kun
Comments: 21
Kudos: 146
Collections: kuniversism





	a hurricane circles through my sky

**Author's Note:**

> _prompt #74: modern fantasy au! Kun has the power to change the weather with his emotions. He has a crush on character B, and embarrassingly the clouds always part with bright sunshine whenever he sees him._
> 
> i would like to thank the prompter for sending this one in, as soon as i saw it i fell in love with it  
> i would also like to thank the organisator of this fic fest, you have done an amazing job <3

☁️

On the night when Kun is born, there is a snowstorm that rages outside. Kun is brought into the world to the rain and snow beating a vicious rhythm against the hospital windows and the howling weeping of wind as it slips inside the building, right through the cracks underneath the doors. He is brought into the world to the deafening roar of a blizzard that drowns out his cries and screams as he is cleaned, carefully wrapped up in a towel and gently put into his mother’s eager, waiting arms.

His mother will tell him about it, a few years later when he is just shy of five years old and she is putting him to bed. She will cover him with his favorite blanket and Kun will demand to hear a story for a good night’s sleep.

She will tell him, speak the words softly into his hair as she holds him in her warm embrace, _when you were born, it snowed for three days straight. You didn’t seem to like the snow. You cried and cried and cried until you tired yourself out. On the fourth day, you finally smiled, and the skies opened up and let in sunlight through the heavy clouds._

It took a while for Kun’s family to figure out that Kun wasn’t an ordinary child, the way it might have seemed at first glance. They weren’t to blame, of course; it wouldn’t be anyone’s first instinct to notice the way weather behaved around him and connect it to the little boy. It was weather, after all – unpredictable, wild, itself its own master.

The first time, it was a passing comment by a mother of one of Kun’s kindergarten friends, said to Kun’s own mom on the day of Kun’s third birthday party. His mother’s idea, a get-together held in place less for the sake of Kun, who couldn’t properly appreciate it at the time due to his age, and more for her to simply have an excuse to invite her friends over, have some fun and show off their newly reconstructed backyard.

“Lovely weather today,” the friend’s mother had said, waving a hand in indication of the bright blue sky up above, “How wonderfully it worked out, didn’t it? It would have been a pity if we had to cram ourselves inside.”

It wouldn’t have occurred to them then that the reason for the weather being so nice was that Kun was so happy, having been surrounded by his friends and family. He didn’t know much then, but he could feel their love, and that was enough to make him smile bright and brighter still when his father sat him on a stool next to him and made a show of barbequing the meat that everyone would have for dinner a few hours later.

The second time was the first time Kun’s mom had to stop and look up at the sky with a puzzled look on her face. Kun remembers that day clearly, the memory sharp in his mind: they went to the town. It was summer, hot and humid, a beautiful day. Kun held his mother’s hand as they walked down the street, and he exclaimed in an excited tone of voice when he saw an ice cream stand, suddenly craving the cold treat, wanting to chase away the oppressive heat of the day for at least a short while.

They bought ice cream, and as they were walking, Kun was so happy he kept skipping, not holding his mom’s hand anymore even when she offered it, even when she told him to walk slowly and focus on eating his ice cream.

He tripped. He’s not sure whether it was that his shoe got caught on a crack in the pavement, if his shoelaces had come undone and he stepped on them or whether it was his own feet that got tangled together somehow. In any case, he fell, hands and knees forward, crashing hard against the concrete ground, scraping himself raw and bloody.

Kun didn’t notice the pain at first. His ice cream lay a few inches away from him, and at first that was what made him tear up, before the pain did.

His mom was crouching beside him in a heartbeat, worried, a tissue produced from her handbag to wipe the blood off his skin. She saw the tears fighting to spill from his eyes and muttered assurances to him, trying to comfort him, _it would be okay, he was okay_.

But the pain was louder, and so Kun silently began to cry, just a few tears he couldn’t keep at bay even though he tried.

A few minutes later, the raindrops hit their shoulders and the ground around them, warm and light.

Kun’s mom looked up, and gently guided Kun to his feet, saying softly, “We better head home, it looks like it’s going to rain.”

“What about the ice cream?” Kun asked with a hiccup.

His mom ruffled his hair. “I’ll get you another one.”

Kun didn’t think she would, and hearing her say this made him forget both his tears and the scrape wounds. His tears dried in a few minutes, and so did the raindrops. Soon there were none, and only a few clouds remained scattered over the sky. Summer showers were not unusual, but as they were walking home, Kun’s hand placed securely in his mom’s firm grip and his other hand holding another ice cream, he noticed his mom look up, her brows furrowed. Her gaze then shifted to look at Kun, and it seemed like she was thinking about something, a bit unsure, trying to figure it out; but in the end she only shook her head and looked away again.

The incident was forgotten, but only until the day Kun fell sick at the end of autumn. He was confined to his bed with a fever that made him delirious, and it took over a week for him to recover. As he regained his senses in bits and pieces he would pick up on the havoc that was raging outside of his room’s window, orange leaves swirling to and fro and beating against the glass, the trees leaning and cracking with the force of the wind blowing against them hard and vicious.

Only when he finally got better, when the fever subsided and his coughing stopped, only then did the winds ease up. His mom came into his room to check on him, seeing that his skin wasn’t burning anymore, that his eyes were again big and bright the way they usually were, that he wasn’t hacking his lungs out anymore.

And then she looked out of the window. She looked for a long moment, and Kun wanted to ask what it was that she saw outside; but then she smiled at him, kissed him on the forehead, and told him to rest some more.

 _That must have been when she figured it out,_ Kun will think much, much later. That must have been the point when it clicked for her, when the final puzzle piece fell into place. Kun himself didn’t realize until she told him, a year or so later when he grew a bit, when he started to better understand what was happening to and around him; she told him, like there was no doubt in her mind that the words were true: _you have a gift, Kun._

She told him: _The sky belongs to you._

He used to stay up sometimes, after his mom put him to bed and told him good night. He would always wait until her footsteps faded down the hallway, until the door to his parents’ bedroom closed with a soft click, and then he would climb out of bed and cross the room to stand at his window. He would peer into the dark night outside and look up at the night sky, at the expanse of dark with sprinkled lights throughout, at the clouds that gave way to the moon just as he looked at it to see it come into view and shine silvery light down onto the earth, and with wonder in his eyes and heart he would ponder the impossible truth of it, _was the sky really his?_

☁️

_november ‘19_

It’s dark outside, the sun already set beyond the horizon. The chilly air nips at Kun’s skin, insistent and harsh, and the wind picks up and softly ruffles the hair on Yangyang’s head.

They stand on the sidewalk in front of Kun’s house, facing each other. Except for the soft hissing sound of leaves rustling in the wind, there is silence. Kun can’t take his eyes off Yangyang’s face, which is set in hard, tense lines. He is frowning, brows furrowed; not an unfamiliar expression on his face, but one that Kun hates seeing. Detests that he’s the one that put it there.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yangyang asks, finally, breathes it out into the abyss between them in a tone that betrays hurt and frustration just as the first droplets of rain come down from the grey, heavy clouds that have gathered above. There is a storm coming, but this is only the slow, languid beginning before it hits, the quiet before the event; just the soft _tap tap tapping_ of a few stray tears against the pavement, their shoulders and the tops of their heads.

Yangyang _tries_ to keep his voice level, Kun knows. It cracks just at the last word, and Yangyang blinks his eyes and looks away. Kun can’t speak. He doesn’t know what there is to say.

Somewhere in the distance, lightning strikes, and thunder roars.

☁️

The people of the city have long since learned to take the weather forecasts for the region with a grain of salt. It’s not that they would not be accurate – they might be – but if Kun is around, there’s no telling if the expected sunlight and high temperatures won’t turn to cold winds and stinging rain in the blink of an eye.

They’ve come to call it an anomaly.

For years, scientists have been coming into town to try and figure out why the weather would change so abruptly the way it does. Kun’s not a hundred percent sure how big of an area his powers encompass, but it seems like at least the whole city is affected by them. The city has come to be known in the world for its unpredictable skies, somewhat infamous and a bit of a notoriety in the meteorological sphere. The more people talk about them on the news or in the papers or on the internet, the more Kun is set on never letting anyone know the truth.

It has always been like this: ever since he was born - since the very day he was born - he was able to change the weather. When he was a child, his mother had expected him to learn to control it, to use the power how he wished, to make the weather succumb to his will.

It soon became apparent that it never would.

☁️

In this world, it is not unusual for people to have these sorts of special powers, just as it is common for them not to have any at all. There is no rhyme or reason to it, no telling what determines a person be born with this sort of special ability; in Kun’s family, Kun is the first person in a few generations to be born with one.

They call these unique skills _gifts_ , like they are something good, something to be grateful for and happy to possess. They _should_ be something to cherish, to treasure. Kun guesses if he was able to control it, maybe he would learn to like a power such as this, vaster and bigger than anything he’d ever encountered before. As it stands, he’s never learned how to do so. How does one even begin to control the entirety of the sky?

It has always been like this: what Kun feels, the sky above him mirrors. The weather changes in accordance to his emotions, like his heart is a conductor of an invisible melody, and the sky the instrument on which it is played. Except for Kun’s family, no one knows that the weather changes because of him; when it is not technically his doing, why would he take credit and tell?

☁️

When Kun is seven years old, he goes on a field trip. The teachers take their classes outside and to a park a few minutes’ walk away from school grounds where they’re supposed to spend the day doing several different activities that the school prepared for all the kids.

It’s supposed to be a beautiful, sunny day – the entire day, that’s what the forecast says. Kun has always liked to play outside with his friends, so he is excited. All the kids are happy to be out of class, allowed to run around for the day, he can see it on all their faces and hear it in their voices and laughs.

He’s playing with his toy airplane, sitting on one of the park’s many benches. It is by far his favorite toy that he owns – it is a small, cardboard model of a real plane that exists, one that Kun’s dad glued together for him. It is messily painted white and blue and red, because Kun hasn’t yet properly learned how to hold a brush in his hand, but it’s perfect, and it’s _his._

When another boy comes over and takes interest in the plane, at first Kun is reluctant to let him touch it. It’s his most treasured possession, after all – but his mom always told him it was okay to share, so after a “Can I play with it? Please?” he lets the boy have it, slowly and tenderly putting it in his palms with the words, “Be careful, okay?”

He swears he turns away only for a single second, distracted by something that happens at the other end of the park, where his classmates are playing a game. When he returns his gaze to the boy next to him, he finds his airplane broken, pieces falling off and sticking out at odd angles. His heart slams down into his stomach and he reaches for it at once, terrified, exclaiming, “Hey! What did you do!”

“I don’t know!” the other boy says, taking a step back, “I just gripped it, and it broke!”

“You were supposed to hold it gently!” Kun screams back, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, okay?” the boy cries, but sorry won’t save Kun’s plane now, so he ignores him. He gathers the remains of his toy in his lap just as the tears overflow and slide down his cheeks, and before he knows it, the sky darkens with grey, heavy clouds, and in a matter of a minute it begins to pour.

It cuts the field day way, way too short. The teachers quickly round everyone up, and they hurry back to the dry confines of the school’s main building. No matter how quick they go, they still get drenched, clothes sopping wet and dripping on the floor when they finally make it inside.

The rain doesn’t let up even when Kun stops crying. He holds the plane close to his chest, runs a finger over its tattered pieces, and his heart feels tattered too.

“Why did it have to rain?” one of his classmates complains when they return to their classroom, “I wanted to play more.”

“Now we have to study,” someone else groans, before the teacher shushes them.

Kun knows that it is his fault. He knows about his power, about his supposed _gift,_ and in that moment, he hates it. His heart stutters with the harsh, burning red of the sudden rage that he feels, and the wind howls outside, ruffles the leaves on the trees, makes a door somewhere down the hallway slam shut with an earsplitting, loud sound.

Kun also knows that if his classmates knew about it, they would hate him for it too. He ruined their day, the one they were supposed to spend outside having fun – they would never forgive him for it. He knows he cannot tell them. He cannot tell anyone.

And so, he keeps it a secret, hidden away in the furthest recesses of his mind and soul, from then on out. Despite his mom’s words, in the years to come, Kun will come to think: _whatever this stupid power is, it certainly isn’t a gift._

It has always been like this.

☁️

_june ‘19_

He’s sitting at a table by the window with Yangyang in front of him when Dejun enters the coffeeshop through the front door.

Dejun sees them at once, and his gaze flicks from Kun’s face to Yangyang’s and back again, waving his hand in a silent hello, a bit stilted and awkward. Dejun continues walking forward to stand in line at the counter, not paying them much more attention than that.

Kun looks at Yangyang to gauge his reaction. Yangyang gives Kun a small smile, but he’s not as good at hiding his emotions as he likes to think that he is, so Kun notices the tight set of his lips around the straw of his drink, the way his grip on the plastic cup tightens just ever so slightly, the way his entire body seems to tense like a wire pulled taut and remains that way until Dejun gets his order and leaves the shop, only waving bye at them once more.

Only when he’s gone does Yangyang relax again, and it’s hard to miss how he slumps down in his seat. Kun asks, quietly, “So it’s still this weird between you two, huh?”

Yangyang shakes his shoulders in a casual shrug, putting his cup down on the table, “We want to be friends again, but... you know.”

“Just give it time,” Kun advises, not that he would have much frame of reference when it comes to this topic. Breakups aren’t really an area that he would be knowledgeable in, having only had one before, and nowhere as serious as Yangyang and Dejun’s was.

“Yeah,” Yangyang says. “Time.”

“It’s going to be alright,” Kun says, wishing he had more to offer than these stiff words. Still Yangyang rewards his effort with another smile, and this time it feels more genuine, more like him; and seeing it Kun’s chest floods with warmth and affection for him, steady and sure and so, so inappropriate.

“I know,” he says, and Kun thinks that he means it.

☁️

_fall ‘17_

Kun meets Yangyang for the first time at the beginning of September, just when the weather should be shifting from humid and warm to a sky overcast with clouds and the promises of showers of rain. The forecast warns; _put on a jacket and bring your umbrella with you when you go out, just in case!_

Dejun is the one to introduce them. They’re supposed to hang out that day, just the four of them, their usual group - Yukhei, Dejun, Sicheng and Kun - to get together and celebrate the official end of the summer season.

They set up a meeting at their usual place, a coffeeshop downtown. The rest of them sit at their usual table when Dejun arrives with an unfamiliar boy in tow that follows after him through the door. The newcomer ducks through the doorway almost sheepishly, like he’s shy and the slightest bit hesitant, but Dejun heads straight for their table and so the boy doesn’t have much time to loiter behind.

Dejun introduces his new friend to them simply, sweeping a hand in a grand gesture in his direction, “Everyone, this is Yangyang.”

Yangyang almost awkwardly laughs and greets them. Kun takes a proper look at him, and it seems obvious that Yangyang is somewhat scared to be meeting so many new people at once, but still he’s doing pretty well, smiling as he talks to them in a pleasant, warm voice, doing his best to shake loose his stiff shoulders as subtly as he can. The sun comes into the room from behind him, bathes his light brown hair in shades of gold, glides over his frame like it’s curious about him, checking him out, sizing him up.

After the introductions - the others giving their names and exchanging quiet _nice to meet yous_ , they scoot around and make place for Yangyang to sit at the table with them.

Just like that, a group of four turns into a group of five.

That first day, Yangyang doesn’t talk too much. He answers whenever someone asks him a question, and he contributes to the conversation, but Kun still feels like he’s shy of them, holding himself back. It takes a few weeks for him to warm up to their group enough to freely make jokes, to tease them and then laugh unrestrained and loud when they playfully smack him on the arm, and Kun tries his best to make it as easy and comfortable for him as he can, making sure to include him in everything, to ask for his opinion on different topics, to give him reassuring smiles and silent comfort that there’s no need to be afraid, not of the four of them.

Yangyang is young – Dejun’s age, just a month away from turning seventeen years old. He is like a puppy, with round eyes and a higher, but still soothing voice, fluffy hair, and a lanky build. There is something about Yangyang that awakens Kun’s protective instinct, even though it’s a feeling that Kun can’t quite place, at least not at first.

☁️

After Yangyang gets comfortable with them, he seems almost like another person. He is a far cry from the shy boy that Dejun brought with him that one sunny afternoon; and Kun must silently admit to himself, he likes this version of him much, much better.

Yangyang is simply charming. He makes Kun laugh or sputter in pretend rage when Yangyang relaxes enough around him to tease him and play silly, harmless pranks on him. He is wonderful to hang out with and talk to, and without Kun really knowing how, the two of them find themselves hanging out together without the rest of their little group, at first just once or two times a week, and then more frequently.

Kun can’t quite put his finger on it, but there is something about Yangyang that just draws him in. Something in the way he laughs, brightening the entire room with his toothy smile like he is sunshine personified. Something that makes Kun miss his presence when they’re not hanging out together and wanting to see him again as soon as they part ways at the end of the day.

Something that makes him want to reach out, take Yangyang’s hand into his own, or run his fingers through Yangyang’s hair to see if it’s as soft as it seems to be when a breeze bristles by and gently ruffles it.

There is just something about Yangyang, Kun thinks, that he cannot help but fall for, without wanting to, without really noticing. It is just something that happens one day – makes him reel for a moment, catches him off-guard when he realizes it, but then settles into his skin and makes it its home.

In his defense, though, it’s not really his fault. Yangyang is simply too easy to love.

☁️

_january ‘19_

They’re walking alongside the river, close enough to each other that their arms brush together at times. The sun is slowly setting, caressing their backs with the last rays of its warmth. There is barely a cloud in the sky, and only the slightest, lightest hint of a breeze blowing by.

They’ve fallen silent as they make their way home. It seems like Yangyang is thinking about something – he’s got that bit of a furrow to his brows that makes him look so serious, so unlike himself. It’s not that Yangyang can’t be serious – because he can, when the situation requires it – but Kun is so used to seeing him carefree like a kid, happy, perpetually smiling, that it feels a tiny bit weird.

But now it seems like something is weighing on Yangyang’s mind – he can’t stop frowning. Kun ponders over whether to leave him to it and let him confide in Kun when he will feel like it, or whether to just ask outright about it. In the end, he decides on the latter.

He touches Yangyang’s forearm, gently, and asks, “What are you thinking about so hard?”

Yangyang shoots him a quick glance and a puff of air that could be considered a laugh escapes his mouth, but in his eyes Kun can see that he remains distracted by whatever it is that sits so heavy on his mind. “Nothing,” Yangyang says, “Just something stupid.”

Kun squeezes his arm, then lets go, “I’m sure it’s not stupid.” Then he asks, quieter, “Is it about Dejun?”

“No,” Yangyang shakes his head, but then adds, “Well, kind of. Maybe.”

They fall into silence again, but this one doesn’t last as long before Yangyang breaks it with a question of his own, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Kun says at once, and then waits before Yangyang speaks again.

“How do you know when you…” Yangyang starts, slowly, like he’s carefully choosing his words, “When you like someone? When you really like them? Genuinely, I mean.”

Kun looks up at the cloudless sky almost out of reflex, and then back at Yangyang’s face. “As opposed to what?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Yangyang shrugs his shoulders, “As opposed to just thinking that you should like them, I guess.”

Kun doesn’t really know what to say to that, at that moment. It’s not something he would expect Yangyang to ask, and not anything he’d stop to think about before, not in so much detail.

For Kun, the matter has always been clear – as clear as the blue skies above, literally.

It used to be embarrassing to him, the way the clouds would part and make way for the sun’s warm embrace whenever the two of them would meet. Even if Kun would be having a bad day, if there would be grey clouds hanging overhead and threatening to spill over like a glass filled to the brim– as soon as he would see Yangyang, the clouds would dissipate at once along with the tension in his body, both leaving no trace that they were there in the first place. It used to make Kun feel silly, at first. He would feel his cheeks heat up; his chest would feel too tight, too heavy.

But then Yangyang would smile at him, and everything would be okay.

Even now the sun’s rays hug Yangyang’s frame, paint him in shades of orange and honey gold.

Kun asks, “You don’t think you like Dejun?”

“No, I like him,” Yangyang replies, but he angles his face away. “But I just don’t… I don’t know.” He casts a quick glance at Kun, “What do you think?”

“I think,” Kun starts, choosing his words carefully, even though there’s a part of him that begs him to shut up, to not say a word. “I think you know it in your heart, even when you think you don’t. It’s like… It’s like life is a long, rainy day, but when you see the person that you like, it’s like the clouds give way to the sun, and all you feel is happy and warm and good, because you’re with them, you know?”

He doesn’t know why he lets the words out of his mouth; it’s dangerous, he knows it. It’s too close to the truth, even though Yangyang has no idea what Kun’s words really mean.

Yangyang takes a second to think over it, and then shoots him a smile, “You have someone that you like, don’t you?”

It startles a laugh out of Kun, even as his heavy heartbeat makes his chest ache, “What makes you say that?”

Yangyang shrugs, “Just the way you said that. I can tell that you mean it.” And then, damningly, “You must like them a lot.”

It takes a second too long for Kun to find his voice, “I do.”

☁️

_october ‘17_

A few weeks into their friendship, Kun notes for the first time that Yangyang keeps a journal.

It is a small, leather bound notebook. There is a small sticker of a white, fluffy cloud on the front cover, and the entire thing looks a bit scuffed, like it has been used for years.

Kun keeps wondering what Yangyang keeps in there, but he doesn’t want to impose on his boundaries by prying about it. He is curious; he thinks anyone would be. There are times when they are outside, hanging out in a group or just the two of them, times when Yangyang takes the journal and a pen out of his backpack and ignores them all for a moment while he scribbles down whatever it is that he keeps writing on the thin yellowed pages.

Yukhei isn’t as concerned about Yangyang’s privacy as Kun is. One day when Yangyang is leaning over the notebook, he asks him outright, “What is that?”

Yangyang doesn’t look up at him or stop writing as he answers, “Some things.”

That makes Yukhei laugh, but he isn’t deterred, “What sort of things?”

“It’s nothing serious,” Yangyang says, “Just weather things.”

That immediately has the others’ attention. It’s only because they’re focused on Yangyang that they miss the way Kun freezes in his seat hearing the words.

“Weather things?” Sicheng asks, arching one elegant eyebrow up.

Yangyang stops writing and meets Sicheng’s eyes, gesturing as he says, “You know. The way it changes randomly and stuff. I keep note of it.”

No one sees the way Kun needs to fight to keep his breath level, how he tightens his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Keep note of it?” Dejun says, the corner of his mouth tugging up in an amused smile, like he thinks Yangyang is pulling their legs, “Why?”

Yangyang shakes his head, casual. “No real reason,” he replies, “I just think it’s interesting.”

“Interesting,” Dejun repeats dryly. “The weather.”

“It’s been puzzling scientists for _years_ ,” Yangyang counters, “So yes, it’s interesting.”

“I guess that’s one word for it,” Dejun murmurs, more like he’s saying it to himself than to the rest of them.

“And do you write about it,” Kun starts, glad to find that his voice comes out stable and normal and not overly curious – the way he usually speaks, and not like he’s been surprised out of his wits, “Every single day?”

Yangyang meets Kun’s eyes with his own pretty ones, “Yeah.”

Kun’s heartbeat stutters, but not in a good way. He faintly feels sick for a moment, like there’s an invisible hand pressing down on his chest and throat, and he wants to ask and needs to fight for the words to stay unspoken in his throat: _What did you write? How long have you been doing this? How much do you know?_

But he can’t ask, not here, not like that. How could he, without making them all suspicious? Wouldn’t they think it weird, if he suddenly expressed so much interest in something he’d never mentioned before except in passing, vague terms?

No, he can’t just ask, but he knows that at some point, he’s going to need to talk more to Yangyang about it; it is just a matter of figuring out how to do so without drawing the attention to himself, without making Yangyang think that he knows more than he’s letting on. Even though he does, but there’s no need for Yangyang to know that.

There’s no need for anyone to know that.

☁️

It proves hard to find a casual opportunity to talk to Yangyang about his unusual hobby.

The others don’t care as much, so after that first time, they don’t really talk to Yangyang about it. Kun wants to, but he thinks bringing it up out of the blue and questioning him about it would have the opposite of the desired outcome, so he bites on his tongue and keeps silent each time Yangyang’s thoughtful, piercing gaze turns towards the sky.

Help comes from the least expected corner – it’s Ten that questions Yangyang about the little notebook.

Ten is originally a friend of Guanheng’s, who is a friend of Yangyang’s. Before Dejun introduced Yangyang to the group, Yangyang had his own one – his best friend from childhood, Guanheng, and the exchange student that just so happened to catch Guanheng’s fancy, Ten.

With the addition of Yangyang into their group, the other two followed, slowly integrating themselves into their circle. Before anyone really knew it, five become seven, tight and inseparable.

“That’s your weather research, right?” Ten asks now, pointing a slender, elegant finger at the notebook in question resting upon the table in front of Yangyang. There is a slight curve to his mouth, and a glint in his eyes, “I’ve heard so much about it.”

Yangyang shoots Guanheng a narrowed glare, but it’s obvious that it’s more for show than him being mad that Guanheng would talk to Ten about it. “Really,” he says dryly.

Guanheng smiles back innocently, and Ten extends a hand, long fingers stopping just shy of reaching the notebook, “May I?”

Yangyang lets him take it, “Sure.”

Ten slowly looks through the pages one by one. Guanheng, sitting on his left side, leans in so he can see as well, and Kun let’s himself mirror him from Ten’s other side. He survey the yellowed pages as Ten thumbs through them, but despite all his conjecture as to what damning evidence might be hiding in this small book, Kun comes to find out that it’s really just what Yangyang had mentioned before: there are numbers, from top to bottom, dates; and beside them, words to describe the state of the weather of that day, additional ones written into the blank spaces between them to mark the days that changed abruptly.

He feels a bit of tension trickle out of his body.

He doesn’t move an inch as he relaxes, but just then, Yukhei turns his gaze to look at him. There is a question in his sharp, knowing eyes, but Kun plays ignorant and pretends he doesn’t see it at all.

He realizes he missed Ten’s next question; whatever he asked, Yangyang now replies to it with, “I just want to know why it happens.”

“There might not be a reason,” Sicheng says, “It’s an anomaly, after all. A weird phenomenon that just _happens_.”

“I know that,” Yangyang says, a bit of an edge to his voice – not unkind, but indicative enough that he’s had this argument before, and didn’t like it, “We all know that. But what if.” He pauses, and lowers his voice, “What if it’s something else? Something bigger? What if it leads to something?”

Ten asks, doubt clear in his voice, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Yangyang says, and just then Kun notices a slight blush rising on his cheeks. He plunges on, “You’ve seen Thor, haven’t you?”

“Thor?” Guanheng laughs, “What has the God of thunder got to do with this?”

Kun has seen the movie before, and he quickly tries to remember what it was about and what had happened there that would make Yangyang think that it would apply to this situation. Dejun beats him to it – he’s the first one to connect the dots. He asks Yangyang, “You don’t think that the Bifrost actually exists, do you?”

It’s clear from his voice that he finds the entire notion ridiculous. Yangyang shakes his head, “That’s not what I’m saying, but I mean, it’s an idea, right?”

“Well, it’s a theory,” Ten says in a thoughtful tone, “But isn’t it more likely that it’s just someone’s gift?”

At first, Kun thinks he must have heard it wrong. It takes a second for the words to sink in, because he doesn’t expect to hear them – and then he feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’ve considered that, too,” Yangyang’s voice registers in Kun’s brain through the fuzz, oblivious to the fact that Kun’s heart is racing a mile a minute right next to him, “But why would someone do that? If someone could control the weather, why would it still behave so chaotically?” He pauses and looks out of the window to his side, where the wind picks up and slams into everything in its path, be it people or dogs or the trees alongside the road. “Think about it. What would they get out of that?”

Ten shrugs his shoulders, nonchalant, “I don’t know. Maybe they’re bored?”

Kun speaks up then, keeping his voice quiet to disguise any trace of it trembling, “I don’t think anyone would intentionally change the weather like that.”

Yangyang makes a gesture with his hand as if Kun just proved his point, “Thank you, that’s what I mean. It doesn’t make sense for a person to be doing this.”

 _Intentionally,_ Kun adds wryly in his head. _Intentionally, no one would._

☁️

Out of their little group, Kun isn’t the only one that possesses a gift. Both Yangyang and Yukhei have been born with special powers as well.

Yukhei has never kept his power a secret. The first time he and Kun start talking, it’s in part precisely because of Yukhei’s gift. They get introduced to each other by Sicheng, who knows Kun because they are neighbors and Yukhei because they attended the same high school. Sicheng manages to convince Kun to join him in going out on the town one day, even though Kun isn’t feeling well; it ends up raining the entire afternoon, and they end up taking shelter in a hole in the wall restaurant.

They meet Yukhei there by accident. He walks in and spots them, and with a grin taking up half of his face he joins them, bringing to the table a contagious positive attitude the likes of which Kun has probably never encountered before. Yukhei makes sure to make Kun laugh – and Kun laughs _hard_ , for the first time in a few long, tiring days – and it’s like Yukhei could tell that Kun needed cheering up. By the time they leave the restaurant, the only indication of the previous rain are the water drops that cling to the grass and leaves on the trees outside.

He would come to find out only later that Yukhei did actually know Kun needed cheering up.

Yukhei’s gift – the way Kun understands it from the way Yukhei tried to explain it to him – is a sort of empathy. He can pick up on the emotions that the people around him are feeling, he says.

“Imagine that you have an aura around you. It doesn’t describe the sort of person that you are, but instead what you feel,” Yukhei tells him when he’s explaining it, “And I can see it, in a way.”

Yangyang tells them all about his gift the first time they meet him.

It is also how Yangyang and Dejun have met. Dejun lost his wallet, and Yangyang managed to be the person that found it and picked it up – because he saw, when he was asleep, that he was _supposed_ to be the one to find it and pick it up, and later give it back to Dejun.

 _‘Prophetic dreams’,_ Yangyang calls them.

Kun asks him about it one day, a few weeks into their new-found friendship, “How does it work?”

“Exactly the way it sounds,” Yangyang answers simply, “I sometimes dream of things that come true.”

He gets a chance to demonstrate his gift to Kun a couple of months later.

They are sitting in the living room of Kun’s family’s house. Kun’s parents are out, so it’s just the two of them. Kun is showing Yangyang card handling techniques, because Yangyang asked to have them explained.

Usually, Kun wouldn’t let anyone in on magician secrets – but this is Yangyang, and when Yangyang turns those curious, round eyes on him, Kun is helpless.

“Okay, well, you know this already, it’s the basic of the basics,” Kun says, turning over the top of the deck, and then again – revealing two different cards. “This is what’s called a double lift. You turn over two cards from the top, but it looks like you’re turning over just one.”

They go over the simple, essential techniques for a while. Kun walks Yangyang through the motions, slowly and carefully explains how they work and how to perform them most efficiently. When Yangyang reaches for the deck in Kun’s hands, Kun stops him momentarily out of reflex more than anything else, “Do your hands sweat a lot?”

Yangyang stops with his hand outstretched, and then a laugh escapes him, “No.”

Kun lets him have the deck, “Good. Sweaty hands can destroy a deck like nobody’s business.”

Yangyang only laughs again, so Kun says with more emphasis, “I mean it! I once had a classmate hold one of my other decks for like five minutes, and he practically ruined it.”

“Who’s to say you didn’t ruin it, and you’re just looking for someone to put the blame on?” Yangyang asks, a wicked spark to his eyes. Kun has become accustomed to Yangyang’s teasing, but he still reacts.

“My hands are dry, thank you very much,” and then, even though he knows how silly it must seem, without stopping to really think it through he puts his palm in between them in offering, “Try.”

Yangyang’s laughter rings across the living room and surrounds Kun from all sides as Yangyang reaches for Kun’s hand and slides their fingers against each other, getting a feeling for his smooth, _dry_ skin. Kun can only hope that he won’t notice the way his veins pulse with his quickened heartbeat.

He is relieved when Yangyang takes his hand back.

They go over some simple magic tricks next. He doesn’t expect, however, Yangyang to ask with a grin after a few minutes, “Can I do a trick for you too, this time?”

“Of course,” That piques Kun’s interest, “What will it be?”

“I am going to predict what card you’re going to pick, before you pick it,” Yangyang says, a confident smile lacing his lips.

Kun tries to think if he’s heard of that kind of technique before, and he comes up empty. “How are you going to do that?”

“Oh, it’s magic, _ge_ ,” Yangyang says, “I can’t really say.”

Kun rolls his eyes but offers him the deck again. Yangyang, though, doesn’t take it. “You’re going to pick the two of clubs.”

Kun waits. Yangyang makes a gesture with his hands, “Go on. Shuffle the cards, please.”

Kun slowly shuffles the cards, focusing on doing it properly, repeating three times for good measure. Yangyang patiently waits, smile still in place, eyes fixed on Kun’s face rather than his hands, like he’s looking for a reaction. “Spread them out.”

Kun spreads out the cards.

“Now pick a card.”

Kun picks a card.

It is, incredibly, the two of clubs.

“How--?” Kun starts, but seeing the happy, bright expression on Yangyang’s face, he cannot voice out the rest of the question. He finds himself short of breath, suddenly. Seeing Yangyang so cheerful, so glad that his trick worked, so pleased with himself that his entire face is alight with it – it is in that moment that Kun realizes he might be in way over his head.

Kun figures it out a few minutes later, putting two and two together, after he looks away and takes a second to come back to himself, “You had a dream about this, didn’t you?”

Yangyang doesn’t try to deny it, lips stretched wide in a beautiful, stunning smile, “I did.”

“Well, you really had me there, for a moment,” Kun admits, and ignores the warmth that spreads through his chest as Yangyang perks up at the words.

☁️

_november ‘17_

Kun offers Yangyang help with his weather research. Why he does so, he’s not quite sure.

He tells himself it is because it’s the easiest way to keep an eye on the stuff Yangyang learns, and a means of, if he will come to need it, stopping Yangyang from discovering the truth. He persuades himself of this time and time again, whenever they’re cooped up in the library of Kun’s school, or the city one.

But there is a part of him that knows it’s only an excuse to spend more time with Yangyang.

Kun thinks, objectively, that he is a smart person. He knows that this is true – he’s intelligent, and there are his school records to prove it. Despite that, he thinks that this might be the dumbest thing he ever allowed himself to do, but once he’s in (once Yangyang hugs him around the shoulders in sheer gratitude that he would offer help, once he tells Kun: _‘you’re the only person that takes me seriously with this, the others just think it’s stupid’)_ there is no going back.

Still, though, it is agonizing. Kun _wants_ to tell him – there are days that he thinks he can just come clean, thinks that Yangyang would understand it, that Kun could somehow explain it all to him and not lose him in the process. There is never a good opportunity. Maybe there never can be a good opportunity, for a reveal of this sort of secret. Maybe that’s for the best.

The days go by, then weeks, whole months pass by, and still Kun keeps silent.

He has a pretty good idea of what Yangyang expects – _hopes –_ to find at the end of his research. Yangyang’s undying enthusiasm and slight obsession in finding out this ‘big universal secret’ he’s set out on discovering is only one of the reasons why Kun can’t tell him that he himself is responsible for the abrupt, whimsical changes of the weather.

The another is that if he were to do so, Yangyang would Know what Kun feels for him, and he simply cannot allow that.

The more time passes, the more Kun’s feelings for Yangyang grow, and the worse he feels about keeping the truth from him.

☁️

_fall ‘18_

Sometime during the windy fall, before the stupefying chill of the winter sets into Kun’s bones, but after the coddling warmth of the summer leaves with no trace of return, Yangyang and Dejun get together.

It comes as a surprise, to not only Kun, but their entire group of friends. One day, Yangyang acts a tiny bit off. It is subtle, but still noticeable – he refuses to fully look at Dejun or meet his eyes for more than a second at a time; sits on the other side of the table from him, as far as he can get; gets the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks when he talks to him. Kun doesn’t know whether the others pick up on it (apart from Yukhei, maybe), but he does, because he is tuned in to everything that Yangyang does, and therefore it is hard to miss.

Two weeks later, Yangyang and Dejun begin dating.

They stroll into the shop they’re all meeting at holding hands, and that is all the explanation the others get on the topic. Ten raises an eyebrow, but for once, he has no snarky remark to throw at them. Dejun can’t suppress a smile that fights its way to his face, so he hides behind his hand until he can control himself; Yangyang weathers the reactions with his head held high and only a smidgeon of pink dusting his cheeks.

Yukhei frowns at first, looking at them. It is the expression he gets on his face when he’s trying to figure something out, fit a piece into a puzzle, get to the bottom of a problem. Kun notices it only because when Yangyang catches Kun‘s eyes, Kun can’t bring himself to look back, or to not stare at Yangyang and Dejun’s clasped hands like a fool; so instead he turns his gaze away and it happens to land on Yukhei at just the right moment.

But Yukhei’s expression is a puzzle in itself, to Kun. It disappears in a second, replaced by a familiar smile, and Kun can’t be sure he saw it there in the first place, or if it was just a trick of the light.

Kun is only faintly aware of the cold, bitter feeling that finds its way into the ridges of his heart. Yukhei is good at reading the room, observant and clued in to the others‘ emotions as he is, and whether intentionally or just because he doesn’t want the atmosphere at the table to become awkward after Yangyang and Dejun’s arrival, he makes sure that he eases it, and that means Kun doesn’t have time to think about what he’s feeling. Kun is glad for the distraction that Yukhei provides; without it, he is sure he would retreat too far into his own head right then and there, and that would not go without questions later, from the others and especially from Yangyang.

It works, though. Kun doesn’t think about it – doesn’t let himself – and at the end of the evening they part and go their separate ways, each towards their own home, none of the boys any the wiser. Only then does Kun allow himself to go over the day’s events – allows himself to feel, fully – and before he reaches the front gate of his house, the sky turns dark and heavy, drawn closed like the curtains over a stage, and it stays like that for months.

☁️

Yukhei figures it out, completely on his own.

Kun expects it, at some point. Maybe he doesn’t expect it to be quite so soon, but considering the circumstances that surround his realization, he thinks it makes perfect sense.

Yukhei has always been too observant, too smart. Of course, he notices when Kun’s mood sours, following Yangyang and Dejun’s announcement of their relationship. For a while it makes Kun worry, but he knows that Yukhei will keep Kun’s feelings to himself, just as he wouldn’t talk to Kun about somebody else’s. Yukhei is honorable like that.

Kun almost hopes Yukhei won’t mention it to him. It would be easier that way, maybe, if Kun didn’t need to say anything about it, if they could just exist with this unspoken secret trapped between them in Kun’s resolute silence and Yukhei’s considerate one.

But Yukhei is a good friend of Kun’s, maybe one of the best ones he ever had, and so of course he talks to him about it.

Kun knows when it’s coming, because the week before that Yukhei starts shooting him glances that speak a thousand words in his stead. It seems like Yukhei is trying to figure out a good way to go about it, a good moment to bring it up, and Kun isn’t in any hurry to make it any easier for him. If he wants to talk about this – he’s going to have to come to Kun, and not the other way around.

So he does, a few days later.

They end up at Yukhei’s house. His parents are at work, so it’s only the two of them in Yukhei’s room playing games on his console. It was supposed to be the whole squad, but Sicheng has a school assignment to finish by the end of the day, Guanheng is out with his sister, Ten came down with the flu, and Yangyang and Dejun bailed on them.

“It’s raining again today,” Yukhei says, casual and light, eyeing the world behind the window of his room. Kun doesn’t turn to look, because he knows what he will find; there is a steady drizzle that’s coming down, slow and lazy and soft against the glass.

“Curious, isn’t it?” Yukhei asks, voice too innocent. Kun isn’t in the mood to play this game with him – the game in which they act like they don’t know what Yukhei wants to talk about, so Kun levels him with a stare and waits. Soon, one corner of Yukhei’s mouth turns up in a smile, but he casts his eyes down in apology, “Sorry.”

Kun sighs. For a while, there’s only the gentle sound of raindrops, but then Kun says, “So, you know.”

“Yes,” Yukhei admits, softly.

“What clued you in?”

“I had a suspicion, before, but I wasn’t certain,” Yukhei replies, “It wasn’t that hard to figure out, though. After Yangyang started dating Dejun.”

Maybe the rain outside gets a bit stronger just then, or maybe that’s just Kun’s heartbeat in his temples. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me, yes,” Yukhei says, and then after a short pause, “You should tell him.”

Kun wonders if Yukhei means _tell him about your powers,_ or if it’s _tell him about your feelings._ Then he thinks that the distinction doesn’t even matter. As far as Kun is concerned, it is one and the same.

“I can’t,” he replies. How could he, _now,_ when so much time has passed already?

Yukhei doesn’t argue with him about it.

☁️

_october ‘18_

They’re walking through the city after another afternoon spent at the library. This time, they went over a few dozens of newspapers from the past couple of years, looking for any mentions of the quirky weather.

“I’ll ask them for more papers, next time,” Yangyang says, typing something into the notes app on his phone, “Older ones, too.”

“Do you think you’ll find something? Useful, I mean,” Kun asks. He doesn’t really mind Yangyang pouring over the newspaper articles. There’s not much that Yangyang can deduct from them.

“It’s worth a shot,” Yangyang says, voice full of conviction.

“You won’t give up your search, will you?” Kun says more than asks, because he knows what the answer to that question will be. “You won’t stop until you figure it out?”

“I don’t think I can,” Yangyang says, subdued somehow. It’s that bit of edge to his voice that makes Kun pause for a moment and turn it over in his head.

“Why?” he asks then, “Why do you want to know why it happens so badly?”

For a while, Yangyang is quiet, almost like he’s considering whether to answer or not. In the end, he confesses, “I dreamt about it.”

The words almost make Kun stop in his steps, and only barely he manages to keep walking. Somehow, during the few long months they’ve known each other, it didn’t occur to Kun that Yangyang’s own gift could be the reason why he’s so obsessed with finding out the reason behind the changes of the weather. It makes perfect sense, though, doesn’t it? Kun feels stupid. He should have known. The moment Yangyang told him about his power, he should have figured it out.

Yangyang, oblivious to Kun’s internal realizations, asks, “Do you believe in fate?”

“Not really,” Kun answers, and then adds, more truthfully, “Well, I don’t know. I’ve never given it much thought.”

“I have,” Yangyang replies with a smile that somehow seems sad. “Kind of can’t help it, you know. With a gift like mine.”

Kun doesn’t know what to say to that, so he waits for Yangyang to continue. “I think I’m supposed to find out why it happens.”

He doesn’t need to specify what he means. Kun has to wonder though; could it really be fate that brought them together, a boy that changes the weather, and a boy that is so dedicated to finding the answers? Wouldn’t that be too ironic, even cruel, if that were to be the case?

In order to not dwell on these thoughts, he asks, “What did you see? In the dream, I mean.”

Yangyang hums before he answers. “It’s more of a feeling, than it is really _seeing_ ,” he begins, “I’ve had the dream more than once, but it’s always the same. It’s dark around me, and I’m surrounded by water. There’s – something, out there, and it feels like I should recognize it. And there’s also,” he pauses for a moment, “Well, I feel sad, for whatever reason.”

“And you’re certain that it’s prophetic?”

“I am,” Yangyang says, no doubt in his voice, “The dream just _feels_ real. They don’t always, but this one does.”

“Alright,” Kun says, hoping that Yangyang doesn’t see the guilt on his face, even as it grips Kun’s heart and squeezes, ruthless, “At least you know that you’ll find out the truth, eventually.”

“You’re right,” Yangyang admits with a small smile, “I still have to get there somehow, though.”

But that’s just the thing though, Kun thinks. Yangyang _will_ find out, then. No matter how long it takes him, no matter what he does, no matter if Kun attempts to stop him from learning the real reason – Yangyang can rest assured that he _will_ learn the truth, one day. It is inevitable.

It is fated.

Kun only wishes fate didn’t feel like a rock dropping to the pit of his stomach.

☁️

Yangyang starts spending less time with Kun, and much more time with Dejun.

Kun doesn’t fault him for it. It’s quite natural and completely understandable that Yangyang would want to keep his boyfriend company. After a few weeks, he gets used to it – gets used to getting texts like _sorry, i’m going out with dejun today,_ after Kun asks if he wants to hang out with him.

They only meet for weather research. Sometimes weeks pass before they see each other between their library meetings, and Kun guesses that is a good thing, even though his heart tries to prove otherwise. It is no secret that Dejun isn’t keen on all the weather stuff, that he doesn’t find it interesting the slightest bit and he doesn’t seem to want to change his mind about it. Kun should feel grateful that Dejun is keeping Yangyang’s mind otherwise occupied, but despite knowing that it’s better this way – better when Yangyang doesn’t poke around where he shouldn’t – the cold, bitter feeling that made its nest in Kun’s heart blares to life and makes him wish they would go back to the way it used to be, when they would go to the library or just hang out together almost every day.

He just misses Yangyang, it is as simple as that. Try as he might Kun can’t remember what he used to do with his days before he met him, and now the absence of Yangyang feels like a hole in Kun’s chest, broad and way, way too deep.

☁️

It keeps raining.

Some days it is only a light drizzle; those are the days when Kun meets different people, when he’s distracted, when he focuses his mind on school or his hobbies. Some days it pours so hard it feels like the roof of their house is going to shatter and fall right down; those are the days he spends alone at home curled up in his bed, not willing to move, not willing to do much of anything.

Most of the days, though, it’s a steady rain, an unletting torrent, the sound of the drops beating regularly against his windows familiar and almost comforting in the most twisted of ways. It is the sound of his guilt, his secrets, his sadness; it is the sound of his longing, his stupidity, the sound of his heart as it _wishes_ for something that it knows it can’t have.

At the very least, no matter how sad Kun feels, he knows he doesn’t need to cry. The sky always does it for him.

☁️

_april ‘19_

Just as when they started dating, it comes as a surprise when Yangyang and Dejun break up one day. It is a surprise to almost everyone but Kun, because it seems so out of the blue, so sudden; but Kun who still remembers the conversation he and Yangyang had together, however many weeks ago, figured that it was bound to happen eventually.

And he finds that he hates it.

The text that he gets from Yangyang one day that reads _can you come over?_ isn’t unusual. Yangyang opens the door for him when Kun rings the doorbell, the way he always does; steps aside to let Kun in, cracks a joke or two about something Kun will not really be able to recall later.

What is unusual is the way Yangyang’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Kun knows something is wrong, and maybe somewhere at the back of his mind he knows it has something to do with Dejun. Perhaps that is why Kun almost expects the words that come out of his mouth about an hour later, “I broke up with him.”

As if from somewhere far away, the thought comes to Kun that he should feel good about that. Feel relieved, or happy, or something. All those things you’re supposed to feel when your crush breaks up with his boyfriend, because it means that now you can have a chance with them. It flashes through his mind, for no more than a split-second.

But he doesn’t feel good about it. Maybe he would have felt relieved, if he didn’t like Dejun, if Dejun was just an asshole or a stranger that Kun didn’t care for; but he doesn’t. Maybe he would have felt happy then. _But he doesn’t._

He can’t, not when Yangyang sits in front of him, trying so hard to keep his face neutral even though Kun can see the telltale signs of his composure slipping. Kun wants Yangyang to be happy – and he’s definitely _not_ happy _now_ , and Kun _loathes_ it.

There’s a plethora of things he could say, but what makes its way out of his mouth is a simple, low, “Why?”

And Yangyang shrugs, shakes his head. And then says, voice so soft it is almost a sigh, “It just didn’t feel right.”

☁️

After that, things more or less go back to the way they were before.

Now that Yangyang once more has abundant free time that would otherwise be occupied by Dejun, he and Kun begin meeting every single day again, not only for research, but just to hang out. That is what Kun is used to, what he _missed_ so dearly, so even though he still feels bad for Yangyang and his heart is all mixed emotions about everything, one thing is clear; he is also relieved.

The only difference is that for a few months it’s awkward within their group, after the break-up. Yangyang told Kun that he and Dejun parted on friendly terms and decided to stay friends, as they were determined to not let the group suffer or be split into two just because of the two of them. Despite that, it’s not that easy, when these sorts of feelings are involved – and Kun has a hunch, especially because it seems Dejun liked Yangyang more than Yangyang liked him in return.

So it is stilted now whenever the group gets together and both Dejun and Yangyang are present. Dejun doesn’t talk to Yangyang unless he absolutely needs to, Yangyang does his best to act normal anyway and Yukhei does what he can to disperse the tense atmosphere, but every single one of them can still feel it all around them, smothering.

Maybe that’s why Yangyang starts to avoid the group after a while, and only sticks to Kun. He invites Kun to sleep over at his house, too, which isn’t unusual – but it’s also somewhat new, because now Kun stays over three or four days a week, up to the point Yangyang’s mother starts taking good-natured jabs at him about needing to start paying rent if he’s going to keep living there with them. At first Kun thinks she’s being serious, but then he spots the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that is so like her son’s. (Yangyang takes after his mom with both his sense of humor and bright, optimistic nature. Kun really likes her.)

Another thing that returns to normal is the weather. It finally stops snowing or raining or being otherwise unpleasant; there’s only the slightest gust of wind that blows by each day. People put away their raincoats and umbrellas and even the sun makes an appearance from behind the clouds, shyly poking its head out, extending tender rays towards the people down on the ground that angle their heads towards it and welcome the gentle touch anyway.

It doesn’t slip Yangyang’s notice, of course. It can’t, not with the way he diligently scribbles the day’s weather into his tiny notebook each night before he goes to sleep.

☁️

When winter comes that year, it is the coldest one the city has seen in decades.

☁️

( _The water presses into him, from what feels like everywhere, all at once. The wind is strong that night – it must be night, because it’s so dark all around him – it knocks into him from behind and almost knocks him off his feet._

_He is walking. No, running, he’s running – from something. Someone?_

_He can’t see. There’s water in his eyes, obscuring his vision, making it hard to see where he’s going, if he’s even going in the right direction. Where_ is _he going, anyway? Home? He doesn’t know._

Away, _something in his mind seems to whisper._

Why? _he asks, over and over and over._

Why did he lie?

_There is no answer.)_

☁️

_october ‘19_

Kun doesn’t like to invite Yangyang over to his house. The reason is simple and, to him, seems rational – he doesn’t want Yangyang to meet his parents, or any other members of his family. Not that Kun’s parents and family wouldn’t be nice, not at all – his mom is a sweetheart, and his dad is a good guy, even if he’s a bit distant at times.

The reason is that they don’t know Kun has been keeping his gift a secret from his friends and he worries they might mention it.

So he only invites Yangyang over when he’s sure both of his parents will be out of the house until the late evening. Yangyang doesn’t question him about it. Surely it doesn’t even occur to him to question it, because it doesn’t occur to him that Kun might be purposefully keeping him away from his parents.

They usually just laze around, when they’re cooped up at Kun’s place. They play games, or talk, or just sit around in comfortable companionable silence and occupy themselves on their phones.

Today, however, something is different. At first, Kun can’t really pinpoint what, but after Yangyang shoots him what must be the fifth nervous look, and that’s only counting those that Kun notices from the corner of his eye, he has to stop the game he’s currently playing and turn to ask him, “Is something wrong?”

Yangyang’s eyes widen, like he didn’t expect Kun to ask him that; and he quickly shakes his head no. “’Course not.”

“Okay,” Kun arches an eyebrow at him, “You sure?”

“Yes,” Yangyang answers, but then he’s turning his gaze away, like he can’t meet Kun’s eyes, and Kun knows he’s lying.

Kun doesn’t push him, though. He resumes his game and doesn’t let it distract him from completing the current mission objective.

It seems like the matter is dropped, from both of their minds. It resurfaces, however, when the game is paused at last and Kun ventures into the kitchen to get himself something to drink, and Yangyang follows in search of some snacks.

Yangyang stands leaned against the counter while Kun looks into the cabinets. He manages to find a pack of crackers, and he turns to Yangyang with a satisfied grin. He doesn’t expect Yangyang to be looking at him so intensely, so focused; it’s like he’s searching for something, expecting Kun to do something, except Kun is lost as to what that something might be.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks, “You keep staring at me.”

“What? No,” Yangyang shakes his head, “No, just.”

“What is it?”

Yangyang shrugs his shoulders, “I think I had a dream about you wearing that ugly ass shirt, is all.”

“Hey!” Kun looks down at his shirt – a black and yellow striped tee – and back at Yangyang, “My shirt isn’t ugly!”

Yangyang simply shrugs once more, conveying his opinion of that in one gesture. “You look like a bee.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s ugly.”

The corner of Yangyang’s mouth turns up in a smile. Kun notices, though, that his cheeks are flushed the slightest bit pink, and faintly he feels like it reminds him of something, though he cannot place of what.

“So, you dreamt about this moment?” he asks.

“Not really,” Yangyang says, and doesn’t elaborate. Instead he promptly takes the salty crackers from Kun’s grip and heads back to the living room, not sparing him another glance.

Kun drops the matter, though somewhat reluctantly. He doesn’t want to just let it go – he wants to talk more about it, wants to press for a real answer, because he’s sure there is one, and something tells him that it _matters,_ even if he can’t figure out why.

A question takes root at the back of his mind, firm and persistent, and even though he cannot voice it out loud he repeats it over and over and over in his head like a mantra; _do you often dream about me?_

It makes his veins come alive with restless energy.

☁️

_november ‘19_

The next time Yangyang comes over, Kun’s mom is still at the house.

She was supposed to be out already, but she’s running late; takes too much time in the bathroom getting ready for whatever work-related event she and Kun’s father are attending. Yangyang, however, arrives a bit early as well, so it’s inevitable that they meet.

Kun spends the introductions as if standing on a few tiny rocks that somehow made their way into his shoes and now make standing a tad bit uncomfortable. The only tell to his nervousness is the wind outside – thankfully, it’s not that strong, and therefore not noticeable.

He only relaxes when the front door closes behind his parents’ backs.

Yangyang meets Kun’s parents more often, after that. Both his parents steer clear of the topic of the weather, as does Yangyang, and Kun starts to think that maybe it’s okay, maybe he’s okay, and his secret is safe. Maybe his parents understand that Kun keeps his power a secret, and that’s why they don’t mention it.

It lulls him into a false sense of security, so when his mom finally says something about it the next time all three of them are in the kitchen having some dessert, it catches Kun so off-guard he forgets how to speak for a moment.

Kun doesn’t even really hear her. Well, he hears the words, hears them clear as day, no mistaking them for anything else – and they’re about Kun, and about the sky, and about the weather – but right in that moment, he also forgets them as soon as he hears them, because he’s looking at the furrow in Yangyang’s brows and the confused look in his eyes and everything else stops to matter altogether.

And so, later, he won’t remember the words. He won’t remember what Yangyang says in response, either: “What do you mean?”

And he will only faintly recall his mother’s damning response, “He didn’t tell you? He has a gift.”

What will remain forever in his memory, though, is how he feels just then: hopeless, helpless, cold.

He is cold all over, and it’s like frost takes over his veins when Yangyang looks at him, seeming at a complete loss, hurt evident in his face.

It feels like it happens in slow-motion. Yangyang shakes his head no, like he doesn’t want to believe what Kun’s mother just told him, like he’s not willing to admit it to himself. And then he’s out of his seat. He thanks Kun’s mom for the food, says goodbye; and leaves before Kun can even manage to get his body off the chair.

His mom calls after him, but Kun doesn’t stop. He follows after Yangyang, each step awfully slow, limbs heavy and stiff.

Time only resumes its usual pace when Kun makes it out into the street, and he calls out weakly, “Wait! Yangyang, wait!”

He almost doesn’t expect Yangyang to listen, but he stops in his tracks. He turns back around and looks at Kun. Kun walks a few steps closer to him.

Then Yangyang speaks, a strain in his voice that Kun has never heard there before. “It was you,“ he says, “This entire time, it was you.“

How disappointing it must be for him, Kun thinks. He wishes he had more to offer than this; wishes he could tell Yangyang that _yes, there was a universal purpose, a big secret_ , but there isn’t any. It’s just Kun. It’s nothing more and nothing less, nothing special. Only him.

It’s dark outside, the sun already set beyond the horizon. The chilly air nips at Kun’s skin, insistent and harsh, and the wind picks up and softly ruffles the hair on Yangyang’s head.

They stand on the sidewalk in front of Kun’s house, facing each other. Except for the soft hissing sound of leaves rustling in the wind, the neighborhood is silent. Kun can’t take his eyes off Yangyang’s face, which is set in hard, tense lines. He is frowning, brows still furrowed; not an unfamiliar expression on his face, but one that Kun hates seeing. Detests that he’s the one that put it there.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yangyang asks, breathes it out into the abyss between them in a tone that betrays pain and frustration just as the first droplets of rain come down from the grey, heavy clouds that have gathered way up above them. There is a storm coming, but this is only the slow, languid beginning before it hits, the quiet before the event; just the soft _tap tap tapping_ of a few stray tears against the pavement and the tops of their heads.

Yangyang _tries_ to keep his voice level, Kun knows. It cracks just at the last word, and Yangyang blinks his eyes and looks away. Kun resists the urge to close his own eyes. He can’t speak. He doesn’t know what there is to say.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder roars.

With that, Yangyang just shakes his head again with a huff, and starts walking away. Kun watches his retreating figure, and before he makes it to the end of the street, it starts pouring. Lightning crackles above, and the water is _everywhere_ , coming down so hard Kun can barely make out the form of the house to his right.

He knew it was coming one day, but he still isn’t ready for the way it makes his entire being ache. It renders him frozen, numb from head to toe. He merely angles his face upwards and meets the raindrops as they come crashing down.

He doesn’t even know how long he spends out there before he makes it back inside.

☁️

Both Kun and Yangyang fall sick.

The thing is, though, that Kun finds out about Yangyang from Sicheng only three days later, because Yangyang isn’t talking to him now.

Which is not surprising in the slightest. It shouldn’t be, anyway. Kun thinks that maybe he even deserves it; he did lie to Yangyang for months, and as punishments go, this one seems fitting enough.

Knowing that doesn’t stop him from hurting, though. He knew this would happen. He knew Yangyang would find out, and everything in Kun’s life would then change; but he still couldn’t have prepared himself for the ache in his soul that came with it.

And still, at the end of the day, Kun just misses him.

☁️

It feels a bit like a déjà vu, only now it’s Kun that Yangyang is avoiding spending time with.

Yukhei asks Kun, about a week after the big storm: “Did you guys have a fight?”

They didn’t _really_ fight – there wasn’t enough shouting for this to be called an argument. But Kun guesses it is close enough.

“He found out,” he answers simply, trusting Yukhei to fill in the rest of it himself.

“Oh,” Yukhei says, and his eyes turn sympathetic.

“Yeah,” Kun sighs. “You were right. I should have told him at the very beginning. Maybe if I had, he would be pissed off, but maybe he wouldn’t hate me now.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Yukhei says then.

“It’d only be right if he did,” Kun shrugs, “I deserve it.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He couldn’t,” Yukhei reiterates, and then in a gentler tone, putting a comforting hand around Kun’s shoulders, “It’s a lot to process at once. Just give him time.”

It feels like a bad joke, this echo of another moment, a different situation but similar words. “Yeah,” he sighs, “Time.”

☁️

_winter_

Kun has nothing _but_ time now, it seems.

Despite their best efforts to stop it from happening, the group gets split in two. Dejun and Yukhei and Sicheng hang out with Kun nowadays, and Guanheng and Ten keep Yangyang company – or at least, so Kun hears.

It’s a white, white day; it feels like it won’t ever stop snowing. Fluffy snowflakes languidly fall from above, almost without a break, from morning to evening and again and again the next day and the next. It makes it hard to travel the roads, but Yukhei always makes it a point to not let Kun be by himself for too long.

They’re at Yukhei’s house, all four of them – the original four, Kun realizes suddenly, surveying the room – Yukhei and Sicheng lounging on Yukhei’s bed, shoulders pressed together, game controllers in hands, and Kun and Dejun sitting on the carpeted floor, watching the screen.

The thing is, Kun misses Yangyang, more than anything. But he misses Guanheng and Ten, too; and as he sits in Yukhei’s room, he realizes that like this, without them, the group doesn’t feel complete anymore.

And it’s his fault, that they’re not there. That’s the hardest part to swallow.

☁️

It goes on like that.

December passes, and then January; weeks go by that feel long enough to be years. Kun’s birthday passes, too. Kun turns down Yukhei’s offer of a small birthday get-together, because he really doesn’t feel like celebrating, and instead he holes up in his room and plays games on his computer for a few hours.

He does get a _happy birthday_ text from Yangyang – just those two words, and nothing more. Kun sends back a _thank you_ about half an hour of uncertainty later. He ponders over whether to follow it up with something more, but what could he say – ask Yangyang how he’s doing? If he’s still mad? If he could ever forgive Kun?

So Kun types out a _I am so, so sorry for everything,_ deletes it, types it out again, and then deletes it again before putting his phone down on his desk.

☁️

The first time they see each other again after that day in November is when Yukhei invites the group to the movies for his birthday.

Kun half hopes Yangyang will not show up, because he’s afraid to see him after so long, because he’s afraid of what it’s going to be like, and that it’s going to ruin Yukhei’s birthday somehow. It’s that fear that lodges itself in his throat and almost renders him speechless when he gets to the mall and sees Yangyang standing next to Yukhei, Sicheng and Ten in front of the cinema complex’s entrance.

They greet each other – Yangyang greets Kun, though it is in a carefully inflectionless tone – and Kun only barely manages to say _hi_ back and not sound as out of breath as he’s feeling.

Kun keeps his hands shoved deep in his jacket’s pockets so neither of the others notice just how much they’re shaking.

The movie helps keep Kun’s mind otherwise preoccupied and provides enough time for him to calm down, and after the movie they go to a restaurant and have a meal together. During the entire time, Yangyang doesn’t say anything more to Kun, and Kun doesn’t know how to start a conversation with him and not have the atmosphere around the entire group turn immediately awkward and tense.

It’s better like this; it still hurts, but at least all seven of them are together again, so Kun thinks it’s worth it.

☁️

As February goes by, Kun starts to think that maybe Yangyang is done avoiding him.

It’s almost as if the movie day is the breaking point – after that, Yangyang (and therefore Guanheng and Ten as well) starts to hang out with the rest of the group again. He also talks to Kun again – not much, certainly nowhere near the level they were at a few months before – but it’s something, at least.

After a few long, excruciating months, Kun feels a sparkle of hope. It appears in the moments when Yangyang wordlessly hands Kun half of his snack bar because he knows that Kun likes it, or when he looks with rapt attention when Kun shows the others a new magic trick that he learned. It is a hope that is only a flicker of a single flame in his chest, but it warms him up nonetheless; hope that Yangyang doesn’t hate him. That Kun didn’t ruin the best friendship he ever had. Hope that perhaps one day they can be best friends once again.

☁️

_spring_

There are times when Kun catches Yangyang looking at the sky.

That, in itself, is familiar. It’s almost comforting to see, Kun is so used to it at this point. What he is not used to seeing is the way Yangyang looks at Kun right after, and how his eyes seem to pierce right through him. It’s that stare that, in the end, tips the frail balance the two of them found themselves in during the last couple of weeks. It’s the weight of that stare piling up, day after day after day; and finally, it comes to a point where Kun isn’t strong enough to withstand it.

So when, one day in March, Yangyang looks at him like Kun is a riddle to figure out, Kun cannot stand it anymore, “Don’t look at me like that.”

He surprises both Yangyang and himself, as well as the others. He didn’t mean to really say it; the words just came out on their own, without his permission. There is a beat of painful silence as they settle in, and then Yangyang’s eyes harden, “Like what?”

Kun is aware that the others are staring at them, but he also finds that he can’t be bothered to care, “Like you can tell what I’m thinking, just because-” and then his brain kicks in, and he cuts himself off with a bite on his tongue before he can cause any more damage. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me,” Yangyang replies resolutely, “I’d like to know.”

But Kun looks away and shakes his head, “Not here,” and that’s the end of it.

He ignores the way Ten and Guanheng and Sicheng exchange curious glances. The atmosphere around the table turns heavy and stiff real fast, but it doesn’t last long; nothing can really stay serious when Yukhei is around. He turns their attention away from Kun and Yangyang, and though Kun is happy to play along, he seldom catches Yangyang’s burning eyes on him and knows that he’s not getting out of this situation that easily.

They need to finally talk about this. Kun knows this. It’s been a long time coming, anyway; the confrontation they should have had the first time around.

So it’s not surprising when, at the end of the afternoon when they part with the group, Yangyang walks up to Kun’s side and asks him, “Now can we talk?”

Kun nods, and they begin walking down the street side by side, with no real direction in mind, the sun hanging low over the horizon.

Before Yangyang can say whatever it is he wants to say, Kun blurts out, “Thanks for not telling them.”

For a few weeks after the fight, he was worried that Yangyang would tell the others about his secret. He prepared for it, prepared for their questions and accusations and curiosity; but none of it ever came. Yangyang, despite being obviously mad at Kun, wasn’t mad enough to break his trust like that. It made Kun feel both relieved and twice as guilty at the same time.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Yangyang takes the opportunity to ask, “You were worried I wouldn’t keep it to myself?”

It’s not the only reason, but it’s part of it; and Kun figures, a good place as any to start talking, “Kind of.”

“I wouldn’t have told them,” Yangyang replies, voice quiet.

“I know that. But,” Kun takes in a deep breath, and plunges on, “You don’t know what it’s like.” He feels his chest constrict and his skin itch, but he _needs_ to say this to Yangyang, all of it. “To be born like this. Living with this stupid _gift._ I mean, can you imagine it? Having all of your emotions always on display for practically everyone else to see?” He keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him, but he’s aware of Yangyang’s eyes on the side of his face. “To have no privacy? For your family to always know how you’re feeling, to not be able to keep anything to yourself because even if you lie, the weather always tells the truth for you? To have them expect so much of you and then have them be disappointed when you can’t even learn to control it and all it does is tell them when you’re having a shit day? To have a power so useless--”

He pauses, and the words hang in the space between them before he can continue, “Why should anyone else know? No one should have the right to my heart. No one except for me.”

A long, quiet moment passes before Yangyang speaks. It’s a sort of thoughtful silence, like Yangyang is turning Kun’s words over in his head and figuring out what he wants to say.

“You’re right,” he says at last, “I didn’t know. You’re right. But I’m not just a stranger, I’m your friend.”

“Yes,” Kun agrees with a wince that he can’t help, “That’s part of why it was so difficult to tell you. I wanted to,” he confesses, “After I learned that you – what you did, your notes about the weather. I really, really wanted to tell you.”

“So why didn’t you?”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The real reason. Kun could just come clean, once and for all, but he’s still so scared – of losing him, now that he had a taste of what life without Yangyang is like – and he can’t.

So he says the closest thing to the truth he can find, “Because you wanted it to be so much more than I could have offered you.”

He doesn’t expect Yangyang to huff out a laugh. Finally, Kun looks at him, and finds a barely suppressed grin on his face, “You know, ge, for how smart you are, sometimes you can be quite dumb.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ ,” Yangyang schools his expression into something more serious, though the hint of smile remains on his lips, “That yes, I was mad at you for a while, but _not_ because I was disappointed about the weather. I don’t mind that it’s you. It was fun to joke about the Bifrost and secrets of the universe, but this is enough, too. The mystery is solved. I just… I just didn’t understand why you kept it a secret from _me._ ” He stops walking, and Kun does as well, turning to look at him face to face. “And now I think I do, and I’m glad you told me. Although--”

Kun waits, but when Yangyang doesn’t say more, he’s forced to ask, “Although what?”

Yangyang reaches into his backpack and searches for something within. “There’s just one more thing.”

A breeze blows by, ruffling the hair on Yangyang’s head as Kun’s heart stutters at the sight of the tiny notebook in Yangyang’s hand.

Yangyang looks around and up, and then back at Kun, “I went over the whole thing. Every single day. Every day we spent together.”

Kun’s heartbeats hurt in his chest. “And?”

Yangyang offers Kun the notebook, and Kun slowly takes it from him. He traces a finger along the cloud sticker on the front, gentle. He can see that there are new bookmarks wedged between some of the notebook’s yellowed pages, and he has a feeling he knows what he would find if he were to open it and look at them. He doesn’t want to. If Yangyang went over the notebook – with the knowledge of Kun’s gift – there’s only one thing it can mean.

It means he knows Kun’s deepest, most treasured secret after all.

Yangyang says, and for the first time that afternoon, a hesitant tone creeps into his voice, “I want to know if I’m right. If it’s true.”

Kun sighs and gives the notebook back. “Yes,” he says, and the words taste damning on his tongue, “It’s true.”

It surprises Kun again when Yangyang smiles at that, “Okay. Good.”

“’ _Good_ ,’” Kun repeats, not quite understanding. He asks before he can shove the words back down his throat, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What? No,” Yangyang laughs, a beautiful sound, “I like you too, why would I mind?”

The breath is knocked out of Kun’s lungs. “I—wait. What?”

Yangyang rolls his eyes, and steps closer, “Told you. Smart, but sometimes so stupid.”

“I don’t—“ Kun starts but cannot finish. _I don’t understand,_ he wants to say, _You like me? Why would you like me? How?_

Yangyang shrugs, and there’s that sparkle in his eyes that is all-too-familiar to Kun, “Maybe if I put it this way. You know, it’s like – when I see you, it’s like the clouds give way to the sun, and I just feel happy.”

For a second, Kun is rendered speechless. It takes him that second for his mind to catch up with the words, and remember the day he said them himself, _when you see the person that you like, it’s like the clouds give way to the sun, and all you feel is happy and warm and good, because you’re with them._

Yangyang’s smile is dazzling, “Or it’s like, coming home after walking for a while in the rain—”

“Stop talking,” Kun says.

“Or like the it’s the eye of the storm, where it’s quiet even though everything else around you is spinning—”

“I’m serious,” Kun says, grabbing Yangyang by his wrists as Yangyang giggles, and Kun can’t tell whether he’s blushing or if the warmth he feels on his cheeks is because of the sun’s last rays before it sets beyond the horizon. “Stop it, now.”

One of Yangyang’s hands – the one not holding the notebook – slips from Kun’s hold on his wrist, and he gently fits his fingers between Kun’s own. “I’m serious, too.”

Kun can’t believe it. It feels too good to really be true; but when he looks into Yangyang’s eyes, so bright and honest, honey gold in the afternoon light, he knows that it is.

Impossibly, after all that happened, this is real.

To think that half an hour ago he was anxious about this – about talking to Yangyang, telling him the truth – it just seems awfully silly now. All that nervousness and guilt seems so far away now it’s almost like the vague memory of a bad dream. There is only Yangyang – standing in front of Kun, his hand clasping Kun’s own, incredibly warm, his lips caught in that smile Kun loves seeing on him so much.

“I’m sorry,” Kun breathes out. “For everything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yangyang replies, softly, squeezing Kun’s hand. “I’m sorry, too. Now we’re even.”

“Is it really?” Kun asks, because he has to, “Okay, I mean.”

“Yes,” Yangyang steps closer, and Kun’s heart stutters in his chest, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to put this whole thing behind me. I just want to be friends with you again. I missed you.”

He squeezes Kun’s hand again, “So, what do you say?”

“Yeah,” Kun nods, and tries to fight off the smile that makes its way onto his lips, and he fails. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

☁️

_post-script_

_summer_

Kun is getting himself a cup of water when Yangyang walks into the kitchen, “Hey, do we have any more of those salty crackers?”

Kun gestures with one hand in the direction of one of the kitchen cabinets, “You’re welcome to look for some.”

He watches Yangyang search for the snacks, but only for a moment before looking for them himself. He finds one last packet hidden away behind pasta and instant noodles boxes. He retrieves it, and turns to Yangyang with a smile, “Here you go.”

Yangyang, almost dazed, looks from the pack of crackers in Kun’s hand and back to his face, “Oh.”

“What? These are the ones you like, right?”

“Yeah,” Yangyang answers, “I just… something just started to make sense.”

Kun isn’t following, “What are you talking about?”

“Okay, well,” Yangyang takes a step closer, takes the crackers out of Kun’s hand, and puts them on the counter before saying, “Do you remember the last time we were standing in this room?” He points at Kun’s chest, “The last time I saw you wearing this ugly shirt?”

Kun does remember. That was the day he told Kun he had a dream about him. “You said you saw it happen in a dream.”

“I lied,” Yangyang says, and then corrects himself. “Well, not really, I just didn’t tell you the entire truth. About the dream.”

Kun leans against the counter, intrigued, “What is the entire truth, then?”

Yangyang hums, and steps even closer; so close now that Kun can extend one hand and wrap it gently around his forearm. Yangyang’s fingers come to rest over Kun’s skin, and it feels like the place where they connect burns.

“I did dream of you wearing this shirt. That’s why I got confused. You know how I told you that sometimes I can’t tell what’s prophetic and what isn’t? I wasn’t sure with this one. Just like I wasn’t sure about Dejun, back then.”

He did tell Kun all about this – during a sleepover they had, when it was dark in Kun’s room, Yangyang poured out his heart. _I don’t know if it was supposed to happen. Maybe it happened only because I made it happen, you know?_

“Then what did you see this time?” Kun asks, softly.

“You,” Yangyang answers, and leans in slowly. “Us, here.”

Kun’s other hand – the one not holding on to Yangyang’s arm – comes to rest on his shoulder, and from there traces a path to the back of his neck. Kun’s fingers thread through the short, silky hair there, “Just like this?”

“Almost,” Yangyang all but whispers before closing the remaining bit of distance between them.

☁️

It is unusually warm and sunny in the region, lately.

Still no one can figure out why. The scientists try time and time again, come into town from all corners of the world to conduct exhaustive research, and they still come out of it empty handed.

Kun likes it that way. No one else needs to know. It has always been like this.

Except now, Yangyang knows too. Yangyang, who has stopped carrying around his cloud covered notebook, and started writing in a brand new one. If somebody asks what he’s doing, he will just say, _weather stuff._ And no one will ask more about it. It is only more of the usual – just Yangyang with his weather research, trying to find out on his own why the anomalies happen.

And Yangyang will never tell anyone that that’s not really what he’s doing. No, he will tell this only to Kun; and it will become their little secret.

It starts out by Yangyang asking, one day: _what if we could find a way for you to control your gift?_

And even though Kun doesn’t think there is a way to master his powers, he is willing to give figuring it out another try. He thinks, with Yangyang by his side, maybe one day he finally will learn how to control it – and then, when the weather won’t betray all his emotions, when he will be able to make the sky behave however he wants it to behave, he could tell everyone else about it.

But for now, the reason why the weather changes like it does; that is only for Kun to know, and for Yangyang to endlessly tease him about.

**Author's Note:**

> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/neocxxlture)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/kunyongx)


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